Chapter 197
Richard blocked the doorway, his tall figure casting all light behind him.
"You're going to Saint Lorran?" he asked.
"Move aside," Margaret met his eyes with a distant gaze.
"My people are already on their way," Richard didn't budge. "A business investigation team, a crisis PR team, and the best lawyers. They'll arrive before you do."
"Mr. Neville, this is my problem."
"You signed my investment agreement. Margaret New Energy Group's reputation is my reputation." Richard's gaze locked onto hers. "I won't let my money be buried with you."
He stated the undeniable reality with the coldest business logic. Margaret silently held his gaze. The stuffy air in the garage seemed frozen by their invisible standoff. After a long moment, she looked away and walked past him, neither accepting nor rejecting his intervention.
Richard watched her get into her car and drive away. He slowly leaned against the cold concrete wall, pressing his fingers hard against his brow.
Rex followed Margaret onto the plane, fidgeting throughout the entire fifteen-hour flight. He scrolled through every news article and comment he could find, his heart sinking with each one.
Margaret, however, had simply requested a glass of water and a blanket after boarding, then closed her eyes. She neither checked the news nor spoke to anyone, like a statue in meditation.
The plane landed at Saint Lorran International Airport. The moment the cabin door opened, a sea of reporters from around the world crowded outside the VIP passage.
"Ms. Kennedy! What explanation do you have for this accident?"
"Will Margaret New Energy Group take responsibility for the deceased?"
"There are rumors that your project has serious safety flaws. Is that true?"
Frank, along with several security personnel, desperately tried to clear a path, but they couldn't hold back the surging crowd. In the midst of the chaos, Margaret stopped. She faced the microphones and cameras thrust in her face. The clamoring crowd, miraculously, fell silent for a moment at her gesture.
Under the flashbulbs, her face was pale to the point of translucence.
"Regarding Mr. Tavirog's tragic death, I represent Margaret New Energy Group in expressing our deepest condolences," her voice carried clearly through multiple microphones. "Until the investigation is complete, we will not shirk any responsibility, nor will we accept any slander."
Her gaze swept across the crowd, finally fixing on CNN's camera. "I promise you this," she enunciated each word with resounding clarity. "Three days. Give me three days to uncover the truth, to bring justice to the deceased, and to clear Margaret New Energy Group's name."
A deathly silence fell over the scene. No reporter had expected this seemingly fragile woman to make such an absolute commitment—essentially staking her own future and that of her entire company.
With that, Margaret ignored all further questions and was escorted through the crowd to an armored vehicle that had been waiting. The car left the airport and headed straight for the project office, which was already cordoned off by local police. Outside gathered angry locals holding signs that read "Murderers" and "Get Out of Saint Lorran," their emotions running high.
It was into this atmosphere that Margaret's car drove, entering the beleaguered building.
"Ms. Kennedy," Frank greeted her, his eyes bloodshot. He had barely slept in days and looked on the verge of collapse.
"Where is the victim's family?" Margaret asked.
"They're at a hotel, watched by the police. No one can see them."
"What about the accident site materials?"
"All here." Frank handed her a thick folder.
Margaret opened it to find site photos, inspection reports, and preliminary statements from relevant personnel. Just then, a man in a black trench coat entered with two assistants. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, with a sharp demeanor and penetrating eyes.
"Ms. Kennedy, hello. I'm Nick Garner," the man extended his hand. "Mr. Neville sent us."
He was the business investigation expert Richard had mentioned. Margaret glanced at him, skipping any unnecessary pleasantries, and handed him the folder: "The site is sealed off. This is all the information available at the moment."
A temporary investigation team was quickly formed: Margaret, Nick's team, a technical group led remotely by Sienna, and Frank with his local team. In the conference room, the atmosphere was oppressive.
Nick's team worked with remarkable efficiency. While Margaret reviewed the materials, they had already obtained deeper information through their own channels.
"The deceased, Ramon Tavirog, 42, local resident, had eight years of experience as a high-voltage electrician on the project. He was a recognized veteran in the industry with a perfect safety record," Nick's assistant pinned Ramon's photo to the whiteboard. "His wife said he showed no unusual behavior before leaving home that day. He was an extremely cautious person who would never operate without cutting the power first."
"The site inspection report shows that the main control switch box had been tampered with, but the marks were so subtle that non-professionals wouldn't notice."
Another assistant added, "Moreover, according to that day's schedule, Ramon shouldn't have been inspecting that area at all."
Suspicions gathered like storm clouds.
"Check his account," Margaret suddenly spoke.
Nick glanced at her, clearly thinking along the same lines. He nodded and gave quiet instructions through his earpiece. Within ten minutes, an electronic version of a bank statement appeared on the large screen.
Everyone's attention focused on one particular transaction. The day before the accident, at 4:05 PM. A sum of $500,000, transferred from an untraceable offshore account to Ramon's personal savings account. For an ordinary worker in Saint Lorran, this was an unimaginable fortune.
The conference room filled with the sound of sharply drawn breaths. This was no accident. It was a murder meticulously planned with money and a human life.
Looking at those numbers, everyone felt a chill run from the base of their spine to the top of their head. The opponent's ruthlessness had exceeded the bounds of business competition. They didn't just want to defeat you—they wanted you dead, disgraced, and with no chance of redemption.
"What do we do now?" Rex muttered. "Even if we prove it was murder, Ramon is dead and can't testify. They could easily claim this money was our hush payment, making things even worse..."
Margaret remained silent, staring at Ramon's weathered, honest face on the screen. After a long while, she took out her phone and dialed a number. When the call connected, an elderly, peaceful voice came through.
"Ms. Kennedy."